Crossing the Rubik’s Cube

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We had a seminar in our department today. It was titled something like “your happy and assured future at the doctoral program of your choice.” You get the idea. I think that my professors would like to see me go on to a PHD program, and, honestly, so would I. But there are always flies in the ointment, so…

I am going to try to do this without talking about Hamlet. I work part time at this place:

I work in the kitchen about twelve hours a week while I’m finishing my masters. It’s a pretty decent job. My boss is good to me and the work environment is kind of like a backyard barbeque. They call me a manager, but I don’t really have to do much managing. Working there mostly looks like this:

You don’t have to do a lot of thinking to do a good job. It’s kind of a holding place for people who haven’t made up their minds yet: Purgatory with a side of fries.

The people in this picture don’t care about what a deep and sensitive person you are. They just want their food to taste good. Who can blame them? The Ground Patî’s motto is “Taste the Flame,” not “enjoy the discussion of the Hegelian dialectic.” By the way, don’t ever taste a flame; they’re made out of fire. It’s a stupid motto, but what do I care? I didn’t come up with it.

When I graduate in May, I’ll have to make the decision to either apply for a doctoral program or to enter the work force. The people in the picture have already made their choice. After all, they’re not working at the Ground Patî, are they? But for me, it’s a sticky wicket. It’s a choice between continuing research on a subject that helps me make sense out of my life or doing something with social merit in the private sector. It’s a problem that historians are generally pretty touchy about; what is the practical application of history? Pure intellectual endeavor is a pursuit of the true platonic good, but what good is it in the practical sense? Reading a book doesn’t stop war, hunger, or disease.

All this pretentious pondering, and the decision will probably be made in reaction to much more base concerns. I have a family now, and we need to eat. So I’ll send off some applications to doctoral programs and look at some worthwhile public companies and nonprofits. Then I’ll check my mailbox and crunch the numbers when the time comes. Life is a freefall and it’s scary, but that’s what makes it great. Those people in the picture above call me a hamburger flipper, but this one calls me Da-da:

I’ll freefall for her. Thanks for listening.

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